


Come A Little Bit Closer

by Lady_Vibeke



Series: Cara Dune & Din Djarin: Tales of Two Space Idiots in Love [18]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: (no one blames you Din), Dresses, F/M, Feels, Flirting, Humor, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Keldabe Kiss, Parties, Possessive Behavior, Power Couple, Romance, Sexy Cara Dune, Slow Dancing, Thirsty Din Djarin, soft idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: Cara comes out of her room barefoot, smoothing white fabric embroidered with gold over her legs as though she was afraid something might be out of place. If he wanted to be fastidious, Din would point out nothing could possibly be out of place, because there is barelyanythingthere.“Weren't you supposed to wear a dress?”Cara closes the door behind herself before casting him a funny look.“What are you talking about? Thisisthe dress.”Din stares.Nothing about the garment resembles adress:it's just two stripes running down along her body, one on the front, one on the back, held together by a thick band wrapped around her chest and another one, thinner, around her hips.“That is not a dress,” he argues, his throat a little dry, “that is hardly a scrap of fabric.”[ In which Cara wears a local traditional dress to a party and Din gets a little protective of her. Thoughprotectivemight not be the most accurate term... ]
Relationships: Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Cara Dune & Din Djarin: Tales of Two Space Idiots in Love [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709416
Comments: 22
Kudos: 148





	Come A Little Bit Closer

**Author's Note:**

> So, first of all, I want to scream a big fat THANK YOU to all the beautiful people out there who have been writing/drawing Cara in hot dresses because this is what I (and Din) live for. ❤ I've seen so many people call Cara "butch" just because she wears an armour and I find it so amusing because Cara oozes FEMME and I honestly don't know how people can miss the swing of her hips and her general bearing. Realistic badass doesn't equal butch, and this is my own homage to Cara's quite blatant feminine charm.
> 
> The story originally didn't involve any dancing, but a couple of days ago I heard Ed Sheeran's Perfect and it was... perfect? 😆 So I had to incorporate it.
> 
> Title from Even Though Our Love is Doomed by Garbage (which I've already used for another fic but I'm obsessed with this song, okay?)

_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark  
With you between my arms  
Barefoot on the grass  
_ _We're listening to our favourite song  
When you said you looked a mess  
I whispered underneath my breath  
But you heard it  
"Darling, you look perfect tonight."_

― Ed Sheeran, Perfect

  
  


  
  


***

  
  


  
  


Handing over a former slaver to the very people he held in chains and exploited for decades seemed like a great conclusion to a long, extenuating hunt across three deserts and a swamp. Din and Cara cashed their bounty with a rare, smug pleasure, and congratulated their client for acquiring the last of his people's enslavers. They even accepted, not without a several polite refusals, to spend a couple of nights at the former colonial mansion, now turned town hall, to enjoy some rest and the celebrations for the capture of the last of the Rao's enemies.

Mayor Hanmon, their commissioner, organised a party and a huge feast in the lush gardens of the mansion, and the entire Rao community was invited.

It's dusk when Din, after putting the child to sleep, arrives at Cara's door, his beskar armour freshly polished for the occasion. He's trying his very best not to think about the skirt-like garment that he was kindly invited to wear for the occasion. Rao-Mar is a warm, sunny planet, and the natives developed a very skimpy taste in clothes because of the favourable weather.

Din adjusts the white and golden drape her awkwardly adjusted across his torso and hoped Cara felt at least has ridiculous as he did.

When the door of her room opens, his hopes turn out to be misplaced, and quite ironically so.

Cara comes out of her room barefoot, smoothing white fabric embroidered with gold over her legs as though she was afraid something might be out of place. If he wanted to be fastidious, Din would point out nothing could possibly be out of place, because there is barely _anything_ there.

“Weren't you supposed to wear a dress?”

Cara closes the door behind herself before casting him a funny look.

“What are you talking about? This _is_ the dress.”

Din stares.

Nothing about the garment resembles a _dress:_ it's just two stripes running down along her body, one on the front, one on the back, held together by a thick band wrapped around her chest and another one, thinner, around her hips.

“That is not a dress,” he argues, his throat a little dry, “that is hardly a scrap of fabric.”

Cara glances down at herself like it's perfectly normal that she has more skin than clothing on display.

“It's the local fashion for evening dresses, you uncultured grump,” she says defensively.

Din knows this is a traditional Rao costume and, to the Rao's credit, their culture honours men and women equally; still, he can't hold his tongue while they head to the party. The way Cara's hips swing as they climb down the stairs makes Din feel like someone put a heating system inside his armour and switched it to maximum power.

“I thought attires like this were a mortification to women's dignity?” he asks, a bit wryly.

“That's a bit of a stretch,” says Cara with a little laugh.

Din represses a snort. The only stretch he's seeing, here, is in the soft fabric embracing Cara's breasts.

“Hanmon's daughter said it compliments my figure,” she adds with a little pout.

And, in fact, it _does_. The design of it, its tight waist band, accentuates the soft hourglass of her shape, and the golden cuffs around her upper arms and ankles, symbolising the Rao emancipation from slavery, emphasise the light tan her complexion has gained during this last hunt.

“Yes.” Din tries his best not to stare at the haunting inches of bare skin showing off all along her sides as she walks. ”It compliments it so much it's kind of inappropriate.”

His voice comes out slightly strangled. He's not sure if Cara doesn't notice or just elegantly pretends not to; she just swats his arm and lets out a small giggle as she says, “Shut up. Every woman at the party is going to be dressed like this, it's no big deal.”

It's such _no big deal_ that in a matter of minutes (barely the time to make their way across the hall and into the gardens), Cara receives a marriage proposal by two gentlemen and five ladies.

“Looks like I could get out of here with a pretty advantageous engagement deal,” she struts after politely declining her sixth proposer. “I'd be sleeping in a bed of gold. No more hunts, no more troubles.”

The mere idea of it sounds personally offensive to Din. Taking troubles away from Cara would be like pulling a fish out of the water.

“Is that what you want?”

“Ew, _no!”_ she exclaims, full of indignation. “What sort of endless boredom would that be?”

A small, satisfied smile curls Din's lips under his helmet as they make their way across the lawn.

There are huge tables loaded with food and small pavilions where the guests can sit down and enjoy the music and cuisine in peace. Everything is ablaze with a faint, golden glow cast by the thousands of fairy lights scattered everywhere. Din thought he would feel more uncomfortable in the middle of hundreds of strangers, but the chatter buzzing around him is low and strangely pleasant; besides, nobody is really paying any attention to him, despite his armour; he guesses he should thank Cara for this: all eyes are for her, and she doesn't even seem to notice. More than once Din has to fight an instinctual urge to raise his cloak and wrap it around her to keep all those hungry stares away from her.

Several people come to thank them for capturing the man who now poses as a lovely monument in his carbonite slab in the entrance hall of the building. Din and Cara return the platitudes and shake hands for half an hour before deciding they need a break. They go to sit on a low wall facing a beautiful lake several feet beneath; Cara hasn't drunk or eaten anything yet, and Din has a strong suspicion she's doing it because his helmet prevents him from enjoying any food or beverage. He feels like he should tell her it's not a problem to him, that he's used to it, but the mere awareness that she's being so thoughtful only for him makes him feel selfishly elated.

The sun goes down, the sky's colour fades from lilac to deep blue. The guests start flowing toward the centre of the garden, where a dance floor has been set among bushes of roses and lilies.

Din keeps glancing at Cara out of the corner of his eye, the absurd perfection of her profile outlined by the pale glow of the fairy lights; she's watching the party, smiling. Din's fingers twitch, resting next to hers on top of the wall they're sitting on.

After a few minutes, a young man – a very muscular and very little clothed one – comes their way with a seductive grin plastered across his obnoxiously attractive face and stops in front of Cara with a small bow.

“Miss, would you do me the honour of-”

He catches the slight tilt of Din's helmet and trails off. Din smirks.

The young man looks back at Cara, and, hesitantly, opens his mouth again, but a further bend of Din's head distracts him again.

Din slowly reaches for his blaster – simply to check it's still there, it's not like he's threatening this guy or trying to send him a message of any kind. The man, however, inexplicably misinterprets Din's entirely casual gesture and immediately backs off.

“You know what, never mind.”

Cara turns to Din with an expression that is half puzzled and half pissed.

”What the hell is wrong with him?”

Din shrugs, discreetly lowering his hand from the blaster. The smirk on his mouth takes a faint guilty shade but doesn't fade.

For some reason, the next two people who come to ask Cara for a dance, too, seem to be mysteriously intimidated by the way Din keeps checking that his blaster hasn't suddenly vanished from his belt. It's just a coincidence if he does that while gazing quite intently in these people's direction.

The third time, as the pretty girl walks away with sagging shoulders, Cara realises what the issue actually is.

What she gives him is not exactly a glare; it's rather a frown, perhaps a little bit bemused, if not even _amused._

”Can you take your ominous Mandalorian stance a couple of feet aside?”

Din, arms and ankles crossed, returns the gaze nonchalantly.

”Why?”

Cara arches her eyebrows at him, as if to say, _'Really?'._

“You're scaring people away.”

“Am I?”

Another intrepid young Rao approaches before Cara can call Din out for his nerve. This time, the guy doesn't even need Din's menacing vibes to figure out he's not welcome in the picture. Triumph bubbles within Din's chest while he watches the poor fellow sulk away in silence.

Cara is still frowning at him, but she's also kind of smiling; it's two reactions Din can hardly conciliate: it's like she finds it both annoying and funny.

“Are you going to silently stare down everyone who tries to talk to me?”

A corner of Din's mouth curls involuntarily.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You realise I'm perfectly capable of refusing unwanted proposals, right?”

“Did you really want to dance with any those people?” he asks, unable, despite himself, to keep an edge of disappointment from his tone.

Cara rests her hands behind herself and leans back with a shrug.

“Maybe I just wanted to dance,” she mutters.

“Oh.”

Din's stomach twists. She has her eyes trained on the dance floor, where many of the guests are enjoying the night at the rhythm of the music of the orchestra. All of a sudden he realises he hasn't just kept people from dancing with Cara: he also kept Cara from dancing.

He feels seriously guilty, now. It's not Cara's fault if he can't accept the idea of her with someone else, in any way. It's been unforgivable of him not to consider what _she_ wanted: they don't get nights like this very often – in fact, they barely get any at all; she has a right to be just a regular girl, for once, and he ruined everything, all because he's morbidly jealous.

His heart skips a beat.

_Jealous._

So, he finally just admitted it. By accident, but he still did. It's good, in a way, to have such a weight lifted off his chest. It's easier, usually, to ignore this feeling: it's just the two of them all the time – them and the kid – and there's nobody around who could take Cara from him. Here, however, it's crowded with young, interesting people who could easily charm Cara and make her reconsider her current lifestyle.

He's been an utter, complete jerk.

He makes a decision – one he'll probably, _most likely_ regret, but this is not about him.

He swallows a lump of surging panic, nervous but not enough to be a coward and shy away from this. If he can't stomach Cara dancing with a stranger, there is only one thing he can do to make this up to her.

He turns to Cara, clearing his throat.

“Do you- uh... would you like...”

It's all it takes to dissipate the frown from Cara's face. The way she's looking at him now is fond and pleasantly surprised.

“Din Djarin,” she giggles softly, “is this incoherent babbling a poor attempt to ask me to dance with you?”

Din has to concede his pathetic invitation cannot compare to those gallant bows and curtseys of Cara's previous admirers.

He doesn't expect her to say yes when he meekly asks, ”Would you?”

Cara beams wide and bright.

“Of course, you idiot,” she snaps, pulling him to his feet. Din obliges, and a second later Cara's arms lock around his neck, her body pressing gently against his.

“You know,” she whispers as she tugs him closer, “you could have said you were just being territorial. Would've saved us both a lot of time.”

The mischief in her chuckle does unspeakable things to Din's insides. He's profoundly glad there is all this beskar safeguarding whatever embarrassing reaction his body might have from now on.

“Shut up, Dune. Don't make me regret this.”

He automatically places his hands of her hips and nearly jumps at how agonisingly _soft_ she feels. He considers moving them elsewhere, but as soon as his fingers brush upward he's suddenly reminded that her flanks are naked. Below her hips is out of question: that would be rude of him even if her legs weren't so maddeningly exposed.

Cara laughs, intercepting his inner struggle, and guides his hands back to her hips as though she was teaching to a child, then her arms return around Din's neck.

They stay here, isolated from the rest of the party, swinging lightly at the slow pace of the music. This is not real dancing, which is fine, because Din isn't sure he could embarrass himself any further, though he would absolutely do it for Cara without batting an eyelash.

“Why didn't you just ask?” Cara inquires after a while. She's facing him up close, her eyes a perfect mirror of the starry skies above.

“I didn't think you'd want to.”

“Why not? It's a party, we're here to have fun.”

“I know but...” Din sighs, feeling very self-conscious. “I look ridiculous.”

“Yeah, you do,” Cara giggles with an eloquent glance at his attire, “but so do I.”

Din's hands tighten upon her hips.

Does she really not see it?

“You look perfect,” he breathes, and it's just his lips moving, or so he thinks; his modulator, however, must be more efficient that he believed, because a faint blush creeps up Cara's cheeks as she bites her lower lip to stifle a smile.

“Yeah?”

“I didn't mean to-”

“Didn't mean to compliment me?” she teases. The dimples in her cheeks are giving Din a hard time remembering how to put words together to give them a meaning.

“Compliments are shallow flattery,” he replies, more firmly than he feels. “Mine was a factual remark.”

Cara sheepishly hangs her head with a low laugh. Din wishes he could smell her scent, right now, feel the light sheen of sweat on her skin through his gloves, but a part of him is glad he can't, or he could easily go insane in a matter of minutes. She's absolutely stunning, and it's not because she's been put in a scanty dress, but rather because the dress allows her to naturally shine in a way her constricting armour normally forbids.

“Everyone is staring,” he notes, taking a quick look around. He's actually surprised by how many looks are following them, despite their attempt to stay out of the crowd.

Cara follows his gaze and grins at him when she sees he's not lying.

“There's a Mandalorian wearing a Rao ceremonial outfit in my arms,” she points out, but Din knows this is not the reason.

“There's the most beautiful woman of the party in mine,” he argues.

Cara turns away with a loud scoff. Din still catches the glimpse of a smile surfacing on her lips.

“Since when you've been such a shameless charmer, uh?”

“It's true.”

She keeps an arm hooked around his neck and lets the other one slide down until her hand is resting in the middle of his chest, then tips her head to one side.

“Are you trying to get into my panties, Din?”

”With this dress?” he huffs. “The only obstacle between me and them is your consent.”

Cara's smile morphs into a suggestive smirk.

“Maybe I'm not even wearing them.”

Din's attempt to shoot back a witty retort fails miserably, dying in a choked groan. His brain blacks out as the picture Cara's words just painted in his mind forcibly tears apart whatever little reason left in him.

The mere suggestion that nothing might lie beneath this dress makes him take an instinctive step back, to which Cara responds by tugging him back to herself.

“I'm just messing with you,” she laughs.

Reluctantly, Din resumes his position. It's tough not to think about their hips pressed together while they move.

“You're a surprisingly good dancer,” she remarks. She must be saying this just because so far he's managed not to step on her bare feet.

“We're just swaying on the spot.”

“That's slow dancing, buddy: languid and seductive.”

Din doesn't even attempt to suppress a hearty laugh.

“I can't possibly take any more seduction without doing something stupid, tonight.”

It makes him freeze inside. He didn't even _know_ he was thinking that, but it rings so true it's slightly unnerving.

Cara laughs, oblivious of his slip.

“Like what?” she inquires curiously. She looks up at him, then, for just one second, her eyes fall to where his lips would be. “I mean, you can't exactly impulsively kiss me with that thing on.”

Din is sure she doesn't truly realise this is, in fact, the case in point, and it has been for longer than she thinks. This armour has been like a second, fail-safe conscience to him ever since he met Cara, preventing him from doing stupid, impulsive things at least three to five times a day.

“No,” he sighs, “I guess I can't.”

Cara is still laughing when, without any warning, she bends her head and rests her cheek over Din's shoulder.

“Listen to yourself,” she murmurs, “all sullen and disappointed.”

And though she's just teasing him, Din can't chase this haunting thought from his mind, because it's been buzzing for longer than he cares to admit and, whether he likes it or not, it's true. People like Cara _should_ be kissed, _should_ be able to see the love and the admiration in the eyes of whoever is lucky enough to look at them this closely. Din doesn't deserve this luck: there is too much he can't give her.

“Everyone around here must be wondering what you're doing with me.”

“What does it look like?” Cara retorts with a huff. “I'm enjoying my girly attire and the nice company and this beautiful evening.”

Din doesn't know how to take the statement. Being defined as _nice company_ is good, he guesses, but then again he's always known Cara likes his company. It probably gains a whole new hue, though, now that she's nestled in his arms with her head tucked under her chin. If only he could dare to believe it.

“I'm sorry I terrorised your suitors,” he mutters, even though the current situation is making him feel anything but sorry.

“It's okay,” says Cara, “I was kinda saving myself for someone, anyway.”

Din stiffens.

“Who?”

Cara pulls back just enough to give him a disbelieving scowl.

“You're kidding, right?”

He just stares back at her, as blankly as humanly possible, even beneath his helmet, and the way Cara's eyebrows arch high while she insistently keeps her eyes trained in his makes him stutter in realisation.

“Me?”

Cara curls forward, shaken by a genuine laugh that crawls its way deep and warm into Din's heart. Her hand is still on his chest when she buries her face in the crook of his neck, trying to smother her laughter into him.

“You're the most clueless smart guy I've ever met,” she comments, so affectionately it doesn't really feel like a complaint.

“Is that... a compliment?”

Cara pulls back again and scrutinises him with a smile shining in her eyes.

“No, it's not a compliment, you idiot,” she says softly. Her hand rises to cup the side of his helmet and strokes it gently like she was touching Din's actual face. She's leaning close to him, so much that a sudden impulse starts blossoming in the back of Din's mind.

Slowly, he brings his gloved hands up to the sides of her neck and guides her face upward.

“What are you doing?” she asks breathlessly, and, smiling, Din bows his head down until it touches hers.

“I'm impulsively kissing you.”

_“Oh.”_

Between his arms, Cara shivers.

Din is vaguely aware of a distant, muffled sound of applause and cheering coming from somewhere far, far away.

He lets his eyes flutter closed, exhaling a breath he's been holding for so long he was about to burst. He can feel Cara's warmth, now, even though the thickness of the beskar, and it reaches beneath his skin, deeper than his own bones, bringing solace and light to every cold, dark corner of his soul.

“Will this still be a thing, tomorrow,” asks Cara, eyes still closed, after what feels like forever, “or are we just going to pretend it never happened, too?”

There is a lot of little things they pretend they never did, or said, or felt, on a daily basis. What's one more to add to the list? Din has a feeling they'll wake up, one day, and find themselves sitting on a mountain _almosts_ they stupidly let go to waste.

“We could,” he replies cautiously. “or we... could not.”

Cara nods against his chest.

“Tough decision, huh?”

“Flip a coin?” he suggests, and she slaps his breastplate, breaking into another laugh.

“Do you think there's anywhere I could keep a coin in this thing?” she quips.

They're apart again, but he can't let go of her and she isn't taking her hands off his chest. A force stronger than they are is keeping them together and they both have no intention whatsoever to fight it.

“Then what do we do?”

Cara makes an outraged grimace.

“Are you insinuating we should take responsibility for our own actions and feelings like functional adults?”

“Over optimistic?” he laughs.

“Naively so,” she nods. She curls two finger under his chin and smirks. “Let's sort this out like real emotional wrecks.”

He smirks back, confident that she can feel it.

“Let's go find a coin?” he proposes.

There is a number of promises in Cara's look, and maybe it's the overly romantic atmosphere, maybe it's just the exhaustion of months and months of subtle denial finally wearing off the last bit of resistance in them, but Din is fairly certain that this coin flip, however it goes, won't be able to stop what has just been unlocked.

Cara slides a hand down his arm to wrap her fingers around his and squeezes.

“Let's go find a coin.”

Din isn't remotely worried about entrusting such an important decision to a coin.

Coins, after all, can be flipped as many times as required to reach a satisfactory response.

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies and gentleman, I'm a thirsty bisexual and you all know that. I was this close to have Din wear ONLY the Rao ceremonial clothes, but then I thought how cute he'd be wearing them OVER beskar and the decision was made. Sorry not sorry. 😎
> 
> My muse has been kind lately, and I'd love it if she kept it up, so, please, send her your support, every comment is life. ❤
> 
> **P.S. this is now officially the fandom I've written most fics for. These beautiful idiots have been filling me with more feels in a matter of months than any other ship ever did in years. ❤**


End file.
